


Home Enough

by AndAllMannerofThings



Series: Weird Autumn [1]
Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Mental Health Issues, Post-Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 14:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllMannerofThings/pseuds/AndAllMannerofThings
Summary: "It wasn’t fair at all. She’d been on the upswing since that horrible night last Autumn. She’d gotten her life back on track, sorta; managed to put herself back together, sorta; got a job, sorta; worked hard day and night until the girl of her dreams could afford to finally get the fuck out of Possum Springs, get an education, and live."Mae has a dissociative episode on her way home, and Bea helps her return to reality.





	Home Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there and welcome to this (pretty damn venty) fic about Mae's struggle with her mental illness, and the relationship that helps her keep stable. This work features brief descriptions of violence/minor injury, and of course deals with a pretty upsetting depiction of a mental breakdown

When the shapes came, the first thing they took was _always_ sound.

Or, at least, that was _always_ the first thing Mae noticed whenever reality stopped and her broken brain tried to take over and make up for the difference.

The horrible, infinite quiet started halfway through her bus ride back from her job mopping floors at the Bright Harbor rec center. Mae was leaning against the window - notched ear twitching with every bump in the street - when she noticed that despite the fact that the bus was filled to the brim with tourists, families, and fellow working stiffs, there was no sound. Sure, their mouths were moving, up and down again and again, but they were silent. Silent, broken, people puppets.

Normally, the first thing Mae felt when the shapes came was something that should be expected: Fear, resignation, even disappointment that she had, once again, managed to fuck up everything. This time, though, the only thing she felt was guilt, because _Goddammit she had been trying_ so _hard to keep it together and she had been doing such a_ good _job at it, too._

It wasn’t fair at all. She’d been on the upswing since that horrible night last Autumn. She’d gotten her life back on track, sorta; managed to put herself back together, sorta; got a job, sorta; worked hard day and night until the girl of her dreams could afford to _finally_ get the fuck out of Possum Springs, get an education, and _live_.

Just thinking of Bea made Mae’s stomach lurch worse than any number of silent, flapping mouths. If the shapes were a dull ache in her head, the knowledge that she had managed to fuck up _again_ was a knife stabbing in her heart. Mae couldn’t bear to let Bea see her like this. She _w_ _ouldn’t_.

The bus came to a stop, tires screeching without sound. Mae scrambled out of her seat - her bag dragged behind her on the dirty, dirty floor, but she didn’t dare pause to pick it up. Triangles, squares, and circles played at the edge of her vision, replacing the faces of some of those she shuffled past. When her feet landed on the sidewalk, she couldn’t remember how she got off the bus.

Her first thought was to go to Gregg and Angus’ apartment. If she went there she’d only have to live with disappointing her friends. It would be bad, but manageable - the kind of hurt that told her everything mattered.

Mae took a few unsteady, shuffling steps down the street she was sure _had used_ to lead to her friends’ home, but already her toes and fingers were growing numb and empty. She didn’t have enough time to make it _all_ the way down to their building by the beach before the shapes took over. She never had enough time.

Her second thought was to just find a quiet side street and wait it out. Maybe try to take a nap on a bench, or just curl up under an awning and hold on for dear life.

_That’s a great idea, Mae. Stay outside so that by the time you forget which way is up you’ll go get hit by a car._

There was only one real option, then, and Mae dreaded it more than she had dreaded mocking statues and holes in the universe. She steadied herself against a streetlamp, turned until she was _sure_ she was facing the direction of the home she shared with Bea, and shuffled mechanically down the road.

Everywhere she looked, Mae saw nothing except the shapes that pretended to be real things: Ovals and trapezoids, rectangles and rhombuses. She bumped into someone whose face was a jumble of blood red triangles and purple hexagons; only the fuzzy, real lines of their torso made them recognizable as a person. They tried to speak to her, maybe to offer an apology. When the shapes of their mouth flapped open, static poured out, and Mae screamed.

The person-thing stumbled away from her, but Mae didn’t care. The _only_ thing she cared about was that Bea was probably doing schoolwork, like the functional, responsible person she was, and Mae was about to ruin all of that because she was too weak and selfish to stop falling apart for more than two seconds.

_Monstrous existence._

A car rushed by, a blazing yellow cube that glowed in the setting sun. Part of Mae wanted to jump in front of it.

_Monstrous existence._

Her left knee didn’t feel like it was her own anymore, and she tripped, smacking the side of her jaw against a mailbox. It hurt - not the kind of hurt that mattered.

_Monstrous existence._

Someone knelt beside her and reached out with a pair of trembling paws. When Mae looked at them, the only thing not covered in shapes was their long, sharp claws.

_Save yourself._

Mae crawled across the ground, trying to climb to her feet and failing. The shape took another step after her, speaking static. The claws got close.

_Save yourself. Kill._

Mae’s paws grasped her bag, raising it up. She brandished it like a baseball bat.

_Kill._

Mae blinked, and the world flickered. For a moment, the shapes were not shapes: They were signs, doors, cars, people - the claws reaching for her belonged to the paws of a concerned old woman.

_Kill._

No, no, no. She couldn’t. She _wouldn’t_ , not again, not ever. Mae had promised her parents. Promised herself. Promised Bea...

**_Kill._ **

Mae screwed her eyes shut. “Stop!”

The world flickered again. Squares, triangles, circles, claws without any people to use them. Mae scrambled to her feet and ran with numb legs. The apartment shouldn’t have been much farther away.

By the time Mae reached the stoop of her building, she could count the number of things that hadn’t turned into shapes on one paw. The door of the building was real; the cracked plaque etched with flowers was real; the fur on her arms was real. She was running out of time. She was always running out of time.

Mae tripped her way up the stairs leading to the building door, each step a struggle when the ground beneath her was a sea of constantly shifting grey and red rectangles. When she pushed through the threshold, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the door. Only her eyes, bright, bloody red and the stuff of nightmares, had escaped the shapes. It was fitting.

At first, Mae tried to walk up the flight of stairs leading to her apartment, but she couldn’t. Her paws were too slippery and numb and _useless_ to hold the railing. Her feet were clumsy and sluggish - it was getting hard to stand, let alone walk. She slumped to the floor and started to crawl up the endless mountain of squares paw over foot. At some point, the tip of one of her claws broke off when it got tangled in the carpeting. It hurt - not the kind of hurt that mattered.

At the top of the stairs was a row of doors, all neat and orderly rectangles set into the chaotic jumble of rhombuses and ovals that made up the wall. Mae managed to clamber to her feet, and winced. The shapes weren’t quiet any longer; they were _deafening._

 _Monstrous existence!_ the painting hung in the corridor screamed at her. _Monstrous existence?_

 _They hate you,_ the fern nestled against the balcony railing said. _It’s only a matter of time before they remember, right?_

 _What does she see in you?_ Mae’s apartment door asked. _What’s she going to do when she learns about this?_

“Don’t know,” Mae said. Her head was going to split open. Her notched ear was on fire. She tasted blood in her mouth. “Don’t know, don’t know, don’t know.”

Mae drew her bag up and tried to fish her key out. Her fingers didn’t respond, they were only shapes now. The key tumbled to the ground and was swallowed by the shapes, invisible.

Something behind Mae’s eyes snapped. The world lurched back and forth, and Mae fell against the wall, lungs gasping for breath.

_Monstrous existence._

Mae propped herself up against the wall. She raised her paw to knock, and saw only shapes.

_Worthless. Useless._

Mae rapped against the bottom of the door, once, twice. Triangles and ovals danced at the edge of her eyes.

_Pathetic. Disgusting._

There was a voice coming from inside the apartment. Mae knew it was Bea’s voice, but she couldn’t make out the words, only the melody.

_Do the right thing. Die._

Mae knocked on the door again, much louder than she had meant to. It was only fitting that she couldn’t do _anything_ right.

_You’re ruining her life._

Mae wondered if there were shapes under her skin, crawling around just beneath the surface. Maybe she should find out.

_It shouldn’t have been Casey._

Mae knocked again, _hard._ One of her knuckles popped. It hurt - not the kind of hurt that mattered.

_It should’ve been you._

The door opened, and when Bea stepped out, there wasn’t a single shape, no hard lines or glowing edges. Bea was _real_ , and Mae loved her for that more than she had loved anyone in a long, _long_ time.

Bea’s face was, at first, a mask of annoyance. Then her eyes flicked down at Mae, and all the anger melted away in a flash.

“Oh God - Mae?” Bea dropped to her knees. Mae felt a smile bubble up despite everything; just hearing her speak was like being home again. “Are you-”

“Bad, bad, bad,” Mae slurred, head turning away from the floor. Her heart was going to explode any second, it hurt so much but she couldn’t feel any of it.

Bea reached out. Her fingers grazed Mae’s mouth, and came back bloody. “What happened?”

Mae shook her head. The motion made her ears twitch - the notched one still stung, like it had never healed at all. “Nothing’s real.”

Bea blinked. “What?”

There was a pounding in her head. Some ungodly drum beating over and over. “Nothing’s _real_ ,” she repeated, a half-buried sob leaking into her voice. “Only shapes.”

“Oh,” Bea said, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, okay, let’s get you inside-”

Just _thinking_ about standing up filled Mae to the brim with a wave of nausea. She turned her eyes down to the floor. “Not real. Just shapes, shapes, shapes.”

Bea placed her hands on Mae’s shoulders slowly, taking care not to startle her. Mae felt the touch and _knew_ it was real, and she almost cried in relief.

“Hey, Mae, can you hear me?”

Mae _could_ hear her - _wanted_ to hear her - but she sounded... wrong. Distant and muffled, like Mae was at the bottom of a pool and Bea was yelling at her from above the water.

_Monstrous existence._

“Mae?”

How long had she been broken? Since that day with the baseball bat? Since Granddad died? Maybe she had always been broken, and it was just a matter of time before she fell apart completely.

_Jump out the window. Worth it._

God, her heart was going to _burst_. Mae was going to die and the only reason she was upset was because Bea was going to have to deal with it alone.

“Maedae.”

The name came through, clear and close. For a moment, the drum stopped beating, and the shapes clawing at her eyes vanished. Mae’s ears twitched up.

“Can you hear me?”

Mae almost went to kiss her. But Bea was kneeling while Mae was still lying on the floor, and Mae could not think of a way to get up to bridge the distance without getting sick. Instead, she settled for nodding, weakly.

Bea let out a long sigh. For a moment, Mae was afraid that she was angry, and that Mae had managed to fuck up one of the only good things in her life. Then, Bea smiled at her. There was a strained edge to the smile, but that was okay - Bea _never_ faked her smiles.

“Oh, thank God,” Bea said. The tips of her claws traced patterns into Mae's fur, and the pressure from that touch might’ve been the realest thing Mae had ever felt.

“Can you stand?” Bea asked.

Mae tried. She really did. She stretched her legs out across the ground, laid her boots flat on the floor, and pushed, holding onto Bea’s hands like they were lifelines. When she had nearly made it to her knees, the floor buckled beneath her, and the sea of rectangles and squares threatened to swallow her whole.

Mae gave a short shriek - part terror, part hatred at her weakness - and dropped back to the floor limp. The pounding in her head was starting again.

_This is what the rest of your life will look like._

“Stop!” Mae muttered. She wanted to yell, but she didn’t have the strength.

_She’s weak. Kill her._

"No!” Her voice broke.

“Mae?”

_Monstrous existence. End it.  
_

“Please, just stop,” Mae pleaded. “I won’t do it. I won't hurt her!"

_Failure._

“Maedae,” Bea repeated. Her voice sliced through the shapes and the static. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

_She shouldn’t have to take care of your mess._

Mae screwed her eyes shut, and nodded.

_Die._

Bae scooped Mae up, one arm under her knees, the other under her neck. The world spun in a blur of colors and shapes and static - Mae was weightless now, floating in her own little hell. As the shapes started to mesh and warp into each other, Mae became aware, distantly, that Bea had managed to get them inside the apartment.

Mae buried her face into Bea’s shoulder, and gave a sharp sound that was _almost_ a laugh.

“What is it?” Bea asked, punctuating the question with a grunt under the strain.

_Stupid. Idiot. Worthless._

Mae pulled back from Bea’s shoulder enough to glance at her face. “Just romantic, is all.”

Bea laughed, which should’ve made Mae feel better, but there was something about the wariness in that laugh which terrified her.

They made it to a mass of brown squares and splintered hexagons. Mae didn’t recognize it as the couch until Bea placed her on it. She retched when the world lurched and gravity reasserted itself.

“‘M sorry,” Mae mumbled. She tried to tug on Bea’s sleeve, but all her numb fingers managed to do was jab at her arm.

“Why are you sorry?” Bea asked, placing her own hand over Mae’s paw. The touch sent electricity up Mae’s arm.

_Monstrous existence._

“‘Cause it was all...” Mae shrugged, despondently sinking further into the cushions. “It was all _good._ ”

Bea’s mouth drew into a frown. She picked up a shape - a tissue? - off what _had to be_ the coffee table, and dabbed at Mae’s split lip with the sort of gentleness only she could show.

“What was good?” Bea asked, after she had finished wiping away the blood.

Mae didn’t want to look Bea in the eyes when she knew this little life they had built together was about to collapse, so she didn’t. Her gaze settled on a jumble of ovals in the distance.

“Dunno,” Mae answered, once the nausea passed. “This. Us. Everything.”

_Coward._

“Mae, I don’t-”

There was a burst of static in Mae’s ears, so loud and violent she wanted to scream and scream until all that horrible _fucking_ noise in her head was let out.

“‘M sorry, ‘M sorry, ‘M sorry,” Mae said, tears welling in her eyes. “This was good. _We_ were good. And I fucked it up. Ruin everything I touch.”

Bea wrapped Mae up in a hug, all warm and tight and _real_. “Don’t be sorry, _please_. I’m not mad.”

The shapes were starting to fall away from each other, settling into a pattern. If Mae squinted, she could see the outlines of what they had looked like when they were real.

“Why?” Mae asked, turning to meet Bea’s eyes. “Ruined it. Fucked up. You should be mad.”

Bea kissed her on the cheek, and Mae would’ve kissed her back if she wasn’t so surprised she had forgotten how to breathe.

“I’m not angry,” Bea said, resting her head on Mae’s shoulder. “I love you.”

_Impossible. Liar._

“You-” Mae coughed as her throat tightened. “You still love me?”

“I sure do, Maedae, I sure do.”

“Oh,” Mae choked out. Tears started to fall down her cheeks, matting up her fur. Bea only hugged her tighter, and before she had time to process any of this, Mae collapsed into sobs.

Bea rubbed circles into her back, the way she always did whenever Mae had a bad day. If Mae was drowning, Bea was her air.

“Shh, shh,” Bea cooed. “You’re alright. You’re real. I’m real. I love you.”

_You’re real._

“I-I just tried so _fucking_ hard, Bea,” Mae said, bracing herself for the next sob. “I thought I was doing better.”

“You _are_ doing better,” Bea said. “You’re doing so good. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

_I’m real._

Mae hiccuped. “I hoped it would - it would... _go away_ , after what happened in the mines-” She cut herself off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “But it’s _still_ happening and I’m still _fucking broken_ -”

“Hey, hey,” Bea said, hugging her tighter, somehow. “Shh, that’s not true. You’re not broken, not broken at all. You’ve faced problems I can’t imagine and you’re still alive. You’re so strong.”

_I love you._

“God,” Mae said, planting a weak kiss on Bea’s neck. “I love you.” She kissed her cheek. “I love you so fucking much, Beabea.”

They clung to each other like it was the end of the world. Slowly, the shapes that danced at the edges of Mae’s eyes swam away, and the other shapes that filled their home faded and melted until Mae could see what they had really been all along. An orange oval became a Harfest pumpkin; a rectangle blacker than night was only the TV; the squares blanketing the coffee table turned out to be nothing but Bea’s homework.

“They’re real,” Mae said, too tired to give anything but a relieved sigh. “They’re real.”

Bea took hold of one of Mae’s paws, and gave it a squeeze. “Tell me something you can hear.”

Mae wasn’t sure were Bea had heard about this trick. It couldn’t have been from Dr. Hank, because this actually worked. “The... the fan over the stove?”

Bea gave another squeeze. “Good, good. Tell me something you can feel.”

_Fear._

Mae closed her eyes for a moment, and waited for the last whispers of the shapes to vanish. When she opened them, she saw Bea looking at her with a hopeful grin.

“I can feel your hand on mine,” Mae answered. She still couldn’t feel her own legs, but that was alright, they would become hers again in a matter of time.

Another squeeze on her paw. “Great. Tell me something you can see.”

Mae could see practically their whole apartment from her seat on the couch - everything from the old _Witchdagger_ poster on the wall to the vase filled with lilacs - but the only thing she cared to focus on was Bea: The soft curves of her scales; the smudges from the smeared makeup on her face; the deep, brilliant blue of her eyes...

Mae swallowed, then gave a small grin. “I see... a really, _really_ pretty girl that I I like a _whole_ lot.”

There was a beat of silence while a flash of confusion crossed Bea’s face. Then, she started to laugh.

“Oh God,” Bea said, eyes going adorably wide, like they always did when she laughed, “you’re _such_ a dork.”

They laughed together until Mae’s sides hurt from lack of breath. It was a sharp, stinging throbbing that made her headache even worse, but that was okay. It was the good kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that told her everything mattered.

Bea eventually got up off the couch to get a glass of water for Mae, and when she returned, she had her cell in her hand.

“Do you want to call your parents?” Bea asked, handing the glass to Mae. “I thought you might want to talk to somebody from home.”

Mae took a long, deep gulp of water. It was icy, almost unpleasantly cold. But it was _real_ and that’s what mattered most.

Mae looked at the phone for a long while, and almost reached for it, only stopping when she saw the time on the display.

“Is that time right?” Mae asked, tentatively.

Bea squinted at the phone, then looked over her shoulder at the clock mounted on the wall behind them. “Yeah, it is.”

Mae groaned. God, she knew she lost track of time when the shapes came, but _three_ hours? Her parents were probably getting ready for bed, happy knowing their Kitten was safe and sound.

Mae took another sip of water. “No, I’ll - I’ll call them in the morning, let them get some sleep first. Don’t wanna worry them now.”

“Sure,” Bea said, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She took a seat besides Mae, draping an arm over her shoulders.

“Besides,” Mae continued, nuzzling up against Bea’s touch, “you’re home enough, Beabea.”

Bea smiled, wide and bright and full of _love._ It was the sort of smile Mae would do anything for. The sort of smile that made all of the pain worth it.

The sort of smile that told Mae everything mattered; everything was real.

Bea kissed her, and - if only for tonight - Mae knew everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, a kudos and a comment makes my day!
> 
> (4/12: Made several edits to grammar and language)


End file.
